


And I must be Moving On

by Guu



Series: Paper Windows [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Paper Windows 'verse, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guu/pseuds/Guu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call him Old Neal, and he takes an immediate like of Dean when he finds out about his car. That is, until he finds out about Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I must be Moving On

They call him Old Neal, and he has an impressive classic car collection. He comes to the station maybe once or twice every two weeks, and there’s something about him that makes Dean’s skin crawl with familiarity. Old Neal reminds him of John, sometimes, or maybe Bobby. He’s a handsome, old fashioned man, with more money than any of Dean’s peers at the station could ever dream to own, but with a passion for hard work (and hard working men) that is admired by all.

“He used to drive a bus here, when he was what, eighteen?” one of Dean’s buddies at the station says. They tell Dean the story one rainy day in their shared little lounge when a pipe breaks and their street gets too flooded to even dream of driving a bus across it.

Old Neal was a homeless boy from Arkansas. He had fled his hometown and somehow ended at the old station, too young to drive a bus but old enough to take care of himself. He had been given shelter and a temporary home by the chief manager back then, cleaning and helping the drivers with vehicle maintenance. He was a brilliant boy, they say. He got on the bus as soon as he got his license, worked earnestly for enough years until his love of cars and smart disposition landed him a job at a dealership. And then he went on to have a dealership of his own, and the rest is history. He owns more dealerships than they can bother to count now, made his way up fast and steady, but never forgot about his humble origins.

They call him Old Neal, and he takes an immediate like of Dean when he finds out about his car. That is, until he finds out about Cas.

Which is, in Dean’s opinion, kind of ridiculous. Everybody at the station knows about Cas. It’s not like Dean hides him or anything. He’s been around several times. He’s been extended invitations for events that require a plus one. He’s come with Dean to the chief’s daughter’s wedding, he’s been to various barbeques, birthday and farewell parties organized by other drivers. Cas might not be a fan of social gatherings (especially the ones that require etiquette knowledge), and Dean may have to coddle and negotiate sometimes, but he makes a point of trying not to keep Cas apart from his personal life. And Cas humors Dean, most of the time.

 Cas lets Dean drag him, awkwardly and tentatively that first year, to whatever event Dean thinks he can’t bail out of, and they share the load together, Cas shouldering Dean’s rising social anxiety, and Dean brushing Cas’ human behaviour blanks with a discreet laugh and a soft smile. They just _work_ together, Dean thinks, and his mates adore Cas, more or less. They find him odd or hilarious, and the few of them that were shocked when Dean (of all people!) introduced them to their male partner so casually have long since gotten used to the presence of the strange blue eyed man at their social gatherings.

 They aren’t a big group, of course. There’s Elsa, the only female driver they have, who is kind and compassionate but can inspire fear as much as she does respect; Patrick, the texan boy with too big a mouth; Raul, whom Dean actually likes a lot (partially because he doesn’t talk much, but mostly because he usually blasts Deep Purple’s greatest hits at full volume when he takes his breaks on Wednesday nights), and Allen and Jack, brothers, who have been driving buses most of their lives.

There’s the chief, Bill, and then there’s their unofficial benefactor, Old Neal, who makes sure the station is always well equipped, regardless of how tight their budget might get.

He owns a garage a few streets down the road, and he often lets Dean work on the Impala there for free.

“A man should always take good care of his car,” he tells Dean one afternoon when the sun is high but the air is cold and dry. Dean is sprawled beneath his car, covered in grease and dirt. Old Neal can only see his feet, but he knows Dean wouldn’t let anybody else touch his precious car. He stands next to the jean clad legs and the worn boots, runs a hand over the Impala’s roof. “It’s a good, strong car you got here. ‘Merican made. As it should be.”

Dean smiles to himself beneath his car. He knows what comes next: he’s been playing this same routine for the past year or so.

“Too bad you ain’t got a good, strong woman at home, as you ought.”

The silence stretches between them and soon Dean finishes his work. He crawls out into the open and tries to stand up, but his knee gives and Old Neal has to catch him with a tight grip, lest he fall down. He helps Dean up.

Dean winces before stabilizing himself, and brushes his hands on the sides of his jeans once he does.

“I got a lot more than I deserve at home, sir.” He shrugs. Once, many years ago, he may have let those words get to him, but not even the long lasting echoes of John Winchester can make him flinch now.

Old Neal stares at him with searching eyes. In the sun like this he reminds Dean so much of Bobby Singer that his heart clenches in his chest, hitting him with the memory of a time when Bobby had looked at him with sad, sorry eyes. _What have you done, boy?_

“I just worry about you, kid,” Old Neal says, his hand holding on to Dean’s shoulder, “you’re a good man.”

Dean is forty one years old, but sometimes he still feels like that child who had just lost his mother, who wanted nothing more than to belong somewhere again.

“And so is Cas.”

\---

Cas isn’t home when Dean comes back that afternoon. The apartment always feels empty without him, which is more often than not, so Dean fills it with music and sound, just not to be so alone. There’s an old picture of a smiling woman over their microwave, and Dean glances at it every other minute as he stirs some canned tomato soup over the stove. He doesn’t know if he misses her still, but he likes to think he does. Can you really miss someone you can barely remember?

When he goes to the room, after he dines, he takes the picture with him. A text message informs him that Cas will be a while, doing inventory or some shit, so Dean strips and flops over the big bed, claws his way under the heavy duvet and surrounds himself with nothing but darkness and warmth and a smile he can only feel when he closes his eyes.

His mind often wanders to dangerous places: to demon deals and perdition, to absent fathers and running brothers and lovers than never stayed the night. He holds on to the picture against his lips, thinks about the little family he’s made here. He thinks about Elsa’s homemade blueberry pies (baked by her daughter, religiously made for Dean’s birthday every year), about Jack and Allen teasing Dean about his fear of flight, and him spoiling them the ending to every show they’re watching out of spite, of Patrick’s antics and how everybody plots against the poor kid, of Raul’s appreciating smile whenever Dean murmurs the chorus of Wish You Were Here under his breath. He thinks of the chief’s daughter in her beautiful wedding dress and how Cas’ eyes had crinkled when she asked him for a dance.

His story has always been about family. The ones he’s lost (mom, dad, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Benny, Kevin… the list is vast), the one he’s kept (Charlie, Jody, Garth, and in some way, Sam), and the one he’s beginning to make for himself.

This thought is enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but just for good measure he gives the picture a soft kiss and slips it under his pillow.

“Keep me safe,” he prays, although he is unsure to whom it goes.

He falls asleep shortly after that and briefly awakes once Cas sneaks into bed with him, eager to steal as many of the blankets as he can. Dean’s last thought before he goes under, face pressed against Cas’ nape, and nose full of wild hair, is that Old Neal can shove it.

Dean doesn’t know if he is a good man any more, or if he’ll ever be one, but he’s got a place he can call a home now, and he’s got a family, and it may not be great and it may not be all he ever wanted, but it’s _his_ , and no fate nor deity nor devil had anything to do without it.

And the best part?

He gets to share it with Cas.

And he’s more than okay with that.

\----

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, big thanks to Ella and Dusty, who have very patiently offered grammar/spelling checks and invaluable input ♥
> 
> As I've already said, I really feel that this story, originally intended to be just little snippets at Dean and Cas' post apocalyptic life, has really taken a turn of its own. I never planned for it to become a long story or a universe of its own, but there has been character development and a little bit of world building in these last pieces, and as much as I want to shake my fist at it for escaping my total control, I am also rather happy with where it's going. But anyway. We'll see where these characters take us. I hope you'll all enjoy the ride.


End file.
